


Almost

by greenapricot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-08
Updated: 2004-10-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you ever think about how all this will end?” Harry asks. His voice is quiet, as if from far away, and he is idly twirling a piece of grass around his left index finger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

“Do you ever think about how all this will end?” Harry asks. His voice is quiet, as if from far away, and he is idly twirling a piece of grass around his left index finger. Ron squints at him through eyes half closed against the too-bright autumn sun and shrugs as best he can while lying on his back. The grass tickles his neck and he does his best to ignore it. He doesn’t want to move. From this position if he looks straight up all he can see is blue blue sky and the tops of trees, a not-a-cloud-in-the-sky perfect day.

Or it would be, if only he could manage to ignore that acrid unmistakable scent, thick yet brittle, and forever lingering. No other spell smells like that, and not one of the scouring charms in Hermione’s arsenal are capable of removing it from robes, or hair, or skin.

“You’re just going to have to let it dissipate on it’s own,” she proclaims as if that’s an exceptable solution. Harry tells him he’ll just have to get used to it. But he can’t. He can’t walk around with death clinging to him constantly. It gives him a headache, that scent (which appears in his dreams as a slimy acid green fog) flows in through his mouth and nose despite his best efforts not to breath and throbs behind his eyes. Ron has gone through more robes in the past six weeks than he did during his growth spurt second year.

“I don’t want to think about how,” he says finally. “I just want it to end.”

Harry rolls over, facing Ron, and lays his hand gently on Ron’s chest. The breeze shifts, now coming from the south, from the forest, carrying with it the clean brown scent of moss and falling leaves. For a minute Ron can almost pretend that this is a lazy Saturday just after the start of term. Almost.


End file.
